The Eldritch Conspiracy

by Cat Adams

  “I agree that gold won’t work. Perhaps Amelie will have some suggestions.”

  “But I liked the gold,” Olga whined.

  I kept a smile pasted on my face and gritted my teeth. If Adriana could put up with having those two in her wedding party and the queen could be pleasant to them, then I could and would shut up and smile, even if it was through gritted teeth.

  I was so relieved when the limo stopped and I could at least put a little more physical distance between me and the other bridesmaids.

  Since Natasha and Olga were busy ignoring us in favor of chatting with each other, I didn’t feel guilty speaking mind-to-mind to Adriana. I’m surprised there aren’t any sirens in the wedding party. I framed the thought carefully, concentrating hard on Adriana.

  Rusland is a land-locked country. Most sirens would not be comfortable there. My best friend was willing to try, but she stepped aside so that you could join the party. It’s probably for the best, as it would have been very hard on her.

  Okay, that made sense. But it sucked. A girl wants her best buddies at her side for her wedding, not a group of near strangers.

  My friends will be with me for a party prior to the wedding, and at the reception following the ceremonies on Serenity. Although I will admit I find Olga and Natasha tiresome, I would put up with much more to please Dahlmar and make a good first impression on his people.

  Fair enough.

  * * *

  Dawna has taught me a lot about shopping. One: clothes don’t have to be expensive to look expensive. And two: expensive clothes can look just as tacky as cheap ones. I recognized Dawna’s lessons at the first shop we visited.

  Amelie Annette Bertrand was probably the hottest women’s clothing designer around. She could ask whatever price she wanted and people would pay it. She made sure that she was in the store herself to show Queen Lopaka and Adriana her wares. She was beautiful and charming. Olga was particularly impressed.

  I wasn’t.

  Maybe I just had plebian tastes. But it seemed really tacky to me for a bridesmaid in a royal wedding to wear a dress that would make a Vegas showgirl blush. Bertrand’s dresses were all too something for me: too low cut, too short, too glittery, too tight, too loud. Whether Adriana and her mother heard my thoughts, or simply wanted to see what else was available, we left Amelie standing heartbroken at the door of her shop as we drove off to our scheduled luncheon.

  Simone’s was a very nice little Italian restaurant that smelled of fresh baked bread and garlic. The tablecloths and napkins in our private room were heavy, cream-colored linen; the silverware, actual silver. They’d had plenty of advance notice, so the chef had outdone himself coming up with a special liquified meal that I could eat. Somehow, Olga and Natasha got seated at opposite ends of the table and were forced to either sit mum or interact with the others in the party. I wound up next to Natasha and found that, minus Olga’s influence, Natasha was a fairly nice girl with a wicked sense of humor. Of course that only lasted through the dessert course. Once we were back in the limo, the dynamic duo returned to their old tricks.

  Sighing, I counted to ten again, and settled in for what promised to be a very difficult afternoon as we drove to the next designer’s shop.

  Angel Herrera had a very tiny, very exclusive bridal salon where we were served champagne, wedding cake, and strawberries. The bridal consultant absolutely refused to rush and presented us with a selection of impressive gowns. To my surprise, when I saw myself in the mirror, wearing the dress they’d chosen for me, I felt pretty good about the way I looked. A lot of bridesmaids’ dresses are hideous—after all, you can’t have someone upstaging the bride on her big day. Adriana, being a siren, had nothing to worry about on that front, and didn’t want to punish her bridesmaids by forcing them to wear unattractive outfits, and Herrera and her people had taken those instructions to heart.

  My proposed maid-of-honor dress was royal purple, a color that looks really good on me. It was cut low enough to make the most of my figure and the slit up the side was high enough to give a glimpse of the ivy tattoo I’d gotten years ago, to honor my deceased sister, Ivy. The dress was much more conservative than the ones at the other shop, but I was still a little worried about showing all that skin. There’s a big conservative contingent in Rusland. What would they think of the foreign bride’s attendants looking so downright sexy?

  Then I saw Adriana’s reflection, smiling at me, and figured if she was happy, that was all that mattered. That, and the fact that I looked really good in that dress.

  I figured we were good to go. Right up until the bridal consultant told me, “I’ve found the perfect beauty enhancement spell for you.”

  “Excuse me?” I tried to make it sound as if I wasn’t insulted, and failed miserably.

  “Well, obviously, for any wedding you want to look your best, and for a royal wedding, televised around the world, you’ll definitely need to hide those scars and your fangs.” She gave a delicate little shudder as she said the word.

  Lopaka’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Without another word, she rose, which sent everyone else scrambling to their feet. You do not sit when the queen is standing. “We are finished here. Thank you for your time.”

  Holy crap.

  My cousin gave a brief nod of agreement and the other bridesmaids hustled into the dressing rooms to strip as if they’d been given a telepathic message. They probably had. The queen, after all, was the best telepath in the world. Even if Natasha and Olga had basic anti-siren charms, Lopaka’s mental voice could easily overcome them. And it was highly unlikely that Adriana’s bridesmaids had been given charms made from Lopaka’s hair—I was betting that the queen was very, very careful about who got near her hairbrush.

  The consultant flushed, and her face set in grim lines, but I could see the panic in her eyes. Not only was she about to see what was likely a six-figure sale, once shoes and accessories were figured in, walk out the door, the design house’s reputation would be ruined—everyone would know that her faux pas cost her a royal wedding. Worse, we still wouldn’t have dresses. I could only imagine how hard people had worked to set up the appointments with the two salons we’d visited that day and how difficult it would be to make room in Adriana’s and Lopaka’s schedules for any additional shopping, especially considering that the wedding was only weeks away and the dresses needed to be purchased, fitted, and finished as soon as possible. All because of a little insult to me. I looked at my aunt and concentrated. I appreciate the thought, but …

  Lopaka didn’t even look at me. Her eyes were only on the consultant and flashed with anger. But nothing. Celia, I appreciate your humility, but you underestimate your position. Right now, you are the most famous siren on the planet. Your heroics have been splashed across the media worldwide and have given us much prestige. You have set right some of our worst sins and the public consider us honorable at last. To allow this insult to stand would be to allow our entire nation and culture to be insulted. And that I will not tolerate.

  That took me aback. I hadn’t thought of it that way.

  Seriously, I’m not all that humble. Yeah, I know that technically I’m a siren princess. My grandfather had been Lopaka’s beloved brother, but we hadn’t known that until after the vampire bit me and my siren powers started wreaking havoc. I’d grown up poor, with a pretty dysfunctional family. And right at this moment, my mom was in jail, my grandmother wasn’t talking to me, and my sister was (still) dead—and I hadn’t seen her ghost in a while, either. So I just don’t think of myself as a princess. As I told one of my friends when I found out, “That’s just so … Disney.”

  Now, the queen had made up her mind, and while I was family, I was also a subject. I ducked into the nearest dressing room, got out of that lovely purple dress, and pulled on my street clothes, half listening as the clerk tried to talk her way out of the pit she’d dug for herself.

  The others finished dressing long before I did; of course, none of them had to arm themselves. Mos
t of the weaponry I was carrying, including the holster with my 1911 Colt, was concealed by the spells put on my tailored black blazer. Even with the armament, you couldn’t have faulted my fashion statement. I wore a red silk shell and new black jeans under the jacket; the Colt’s black leather holster perfectly matched my short black boots, one of which had a built-in holster for my derringer.

  When I was finally ready, Queen Lopaka and her security detail led the bride and her bridesmaids out of the store, leaving the attendant spluttering in our wake. A black stretch limo pulled up to the curb as we flowed out of the building.

  Adriana and I were the last to exit the shop, and I stopped abruptly when my boots hit the sidewalk. Something was wrong. I couldn’t have said what exactly was bothering me, but it didn’t matter.

  “Down! Everybody down!” I screamed, swinging my arm out and snagging Adriana around the waist. I shoved her behind me, almost throwing her to the pavement, as I put myself between her and the roadway.

  For a fraction of an instant, time seemed to slow drastically. More guards appeared, seeming to hover in midair as the queen’s eyes went wide. The back windows of the limo rolled down. Rifle barrels appeared. Natasha and Olga froze as members of the security team reached for them. The bridesmaids looked like deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car—stunned and blank. Guns roared. Men and women screamed, glass shattered, and car doors slammed.

  I got all this in fragments; I was busy trying to wrestle Adriana into the limited safety of the bridal shop when what she wanted was to rush to her mother’s side. I heard an engine roar and a squeal of tires as a second limo tore off into traffic. In the silence that fell I realized that Lopaka, Natasha, and Olga had been driven away, leaving me and my cousin alone with the gunmen. It’s not the way I would have done it, but I suppose it made sense—I was a bodyguard, and Adriana was my responsibility. It was actually sort of flattering that the Siren Secret Service presumed I’d get her to safety.

  I tried to get her to calm down, saying, “They’re fine. I don’t smell blood behind me.” But Adriana kept struggling with me. I suspected she didn’t believe me—and she was right not to, because I was lying.

  Finally I lost all patience and just slugged her in the jaw, then picked her up bodily and dragged her into the store. More gunshots sounded as the guards fought the gunmen.

  Lopaka’s voice rang in my mind, telling me to do what I was already doing. Celia, get her out of there. Keep her safe.

  I kept my body between Adriana and any open space. The two remaining bodyguards seemed to be giving me some cover with their Kevlar-covered bodies. We passed the bloody form of the dying bridal consultant, her body riddled with bullets and shards of glass.

  My cousin began to come back to her senses, which meant she was no longer dead weight, but it was still hard to move her. “Damn it, Adriana, come on.” I was shouting, but since my ears were ringing from the gunfire, I assumed Adriana was similarly affected. I didn’t remember pulling a weapon, but there was a gun in my left hand. I dragged her past a pair of circular racks filled with a rainbow selection of floor-length gowns, toward the back door.

  Then I saw movement and ducked, pulling her down with me, gesturing for her to hide in the dress racks and to stay absolutely silent. It was a bridal shop, so nearly all of the racks had floor-length gowns. Peeking around a gorgeous, slinky red silk I couldn’t wear on my best day, I saw a pair of men in business suits moving quickly but nearly silently through the store, guns in hand. That must mean the two guards outside hadn’t survived. Damn it.

  The first covered the second, who pushed back the door of each dressing room in turn. The way they moved told me there were wearing bulletproof vests under their dress shirts. They switched positions for the second rank of changing rooms. They were definitely pros.

  Adriana stayed silent, but only to those with no telepathy. In my head, she was terrified, indignant, and angry. You expect me to hide?

  Hell, yes. You’re the one they’re after and you’re unarmed. Let me do my damned job. Stress always made my telepathy work better and I knew Adriana could hear me clearly.

  Fine. But give me one of your guns.

  I risked a glance at her. What? Are you nuts?

  My cousin gave me a scathing look. I know how to shoot. And if something happens to you, I’d like to at least be able to defend myself.

  She had a good point and I didn’t have time to argue. I handed her the derringer from my boot and slithered as quietly as I could to the next rack.

  They’d reached the last dressing room and found it empty. Scowling, they started scanning the store. They knew we had to be in here. But they didn’t see us and they were running out of time. Police sirens wailed in the distance, closing fast. If the attackers didn’t go soon, there’d be no chance of escape.

  They split up, each moving down an aisle of racks. I shifted position, getting ready. Switching off the safety, I braced my gun hand and waited until the first man leaned down to check under the counter. Then I stood. It only took a second, but I felt like I had all the time in the world. The second guy turned at my movement, his gun pointed straight at me. But he hesitated for just a fraction of a second. I didn’t. I fired three rapid shots into the central mass of number two’s neck before diving under a clothing rack, rolling as fast as I could through the tangling fabric. Even if the bad guys always seem to wear vests, they nearly always forget to protect their necks. A head or neck shot will kill you just as dead.

  Number one fired at where he assumed I must be. Close, no cigar. I felt the sting of splintering white oak flooring entering my flesh through my jeans, but the bullets themselves missed.

  The police sirens were close now. Swearing, the assassin bolted out the back door. I heard the roar of an engine and the squeal of tires, and he was gone.

  I bolted out from under the rack and started to give CPR to Thug Two. I would be damned if he was going to die before he told me why they wanted Adriana dead. My cousin joined me a moment later, just before the police edged in cautiously, weapons drawn. I would have done just the same, considering the dead bodies and blood everywhere. They found me keeping the guy’s heart beating—a bit of a losing battle because Adriana was having a hard time keeping his blood in his carotid artery. I hadn’t meant to sever it, but there you go. Adriana and I had tried to save him, and I knew the EMTs who’d come with the cops would do their best, but the odds weren’t good.

  11

  “One more time, if you would, Ms. Graves. I understand that you called out as the car was pulling up to the curb and shoved your cousin behind you. No one else had noticed anything wrong with the limo. How did you know there was a problem?”

  I sighed and tried to stay calm. It had been a very long, stressful day. I needed to eat. I’d been at the police station for a number of hours by now and, while I can go longer between feedings than I used to, my control isn’t perfect by a long shot. Especially when I’ve been busy trying to save lives.

  My stomach growled impatiently. I tried to ignore it, forced myself not to look at the pulse beating so temptingly in the detective’s throat.

  Deep breath. The man’s just doing his job. Stay calm. “Most of the others were probably at bad angles, and the windows were tinted. Adriana and I were the last to leave the store, so we had a different point of view, through the windshield.”

  “Ah. And what did you see that tipped you off?”

  I’d had time to think about it and had finally realized what had been bugging me. “It wasn’t the same driver we’d had earlier in the morning. The first guy’s hair was really short; the second guy’s hair brushed his ears and collar. It also seemed to me that the car was moving too fast. I mean, yeah, the driver might’ve been the kind to slam on the brakes at the curb, but most pros aren’t like that, especially when they’re driving royalty.”

  “Detective Rawlins,” my attorney, Roberto Santos, said in his honey-smooth voice, “my client has been extremely cooperative. S
he has given a full statement.” He was sitting next to me, which was the usual for me when I was being interviewed by the police, at least in this country—even when I was just a witness. He hadn’t had a lot to do thus far, because there were all kinds of witnesses saying that I’d basically saved the day and helped foil an assassination attempt.

  Self-defense and defense of the life of another notwithstanding, I’d put three bullets into a guy’s neck. He was dead and I’d killed him. It was all clearly visible on the store’s security feed.

  Roberto continued, sounding perfectly reasonable, “Ms. Graves has worked with your sketch artist and given a description of the man who escaped. But she has a serious medical condition that is made worse by stress. I really must insist that we take a break at least long enough for her to use the facilities and to eat so that nothing … unfortunate happens.”

  Okay, maybe that was pushing it a little. Of course, Roberto couldn’t know how much progress I’d made in controlling my condition.

  “Mr. Santos.” The detective’s lips moved up in a semblance of a smile, but his eyes were cold, hard pebbles set in an equally stony face. “A man is dead. Your client killed him. She shot him, deliberately and repeatedly. She will sit here answering questions for as long as I feel it’s necessary.”

  I didn’t sigh. I didn’t fidget. I just closed my eyes and counted to twenty. Perhaps Detective Rawlins was just a good, old-fashioned, hard-headed detective. Then again, it was possible he was one of the members of my “fan club,” the group of officers who’ve decided I’m a monster and are willing to go to almost any lengths to prove it. They want me locked behind bars or put down like a rabid dog. Either way, he was pushing my buttons. That was a very bad thing.

  There was a tap at the door. Rawlins made a low, grumbling noise, then rose and left the room, closing the door behind him. I’m sure they didn’t think I could hear them through a closed door, especially since they were speaking softly. But my vampire nature was very close to the surface now, and that made eavesdropping easy.